“Well—perhaps not worrying. But unsettled in mind,” conceded Ann. “What’s Tony been doing?”—shrewdly.
“Getting engaged—or trying to.”
She laughed.
“Pooh! I guessed that—months ago. And I think Lady Doreen’s a dear. So you’d better be getting out your consent and furbishing it up so as to give it prettily as soon as it’s required. You know you’re pleased—really.”
By this time the guests were arriving, and very soon Ann was swept away from Sir Philip on a tide of eager young men, anxious to inscribe their names on her programme. She was an excellent dancer, but although she was physically too young and healthy not to find a certain enjoyment in the sheer delight of rhythmic motion, she was conscious as the evening progressed of a certain quality of superficiality in the pleasure she experienced. There was a sameness about it all that palled. What was there in it, after all? One of your partners knew a priceless new glide or shuffle which he forthwith imparted to you, or else you initiated him into some step hitherto unfamiliar to him, and after that you both went on one-stepping or fox-trotting round the room in the wake of a number of other people doing likewise.
Ann, in the arms of a tall young officer from the Ferribridge barracks, caught herself up quickly at this stage of her unprofitable train of thought. This was not the first time lately that she had found herself impressed with the utter staleness of things—she who had been wont to find life so full of interest—and she knew that thoughts such as these were best dismissed as soon as possible. They linked up too closely with searing memories. She made a determined effort to steady herself, and pulled herself together so successfully that the young Guardsman from Ferribridge told quite a number of people that Miss Lovell was a “topping little sport all round—good dancer and jolly good fun to talk to.”
She danced several times with Tony, and left him completely nonplussed by her uncanny discernment when, after he had stumbled through the revelation of his engagement to Doreen Neville, during one of the intervals, she promptly told him she had anticipated it long ago and wished him luck.
“And—and you and I?” he had queried with a certain wistful embarrassment.
“Pals, Tony,” she answered frankly. “Same as always. You must let me meet Lady Doreen when she comes back from Switzerland, and”—smiling—“I’ll hand over my charge to her. Have you been good lately, by the way?”
He flushed, and his eyes grew restless.